


A Multi-Million Dollar Payout

by Soquilii9



Category: Leverage
Genre: Feel-good, Gen, Good, Post-War, Protective Eliot Spencer, Soldiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 01:05:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8556715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soquilii9/pseuds/Soquilii9
Summary: Based on The Homecoming JobDedicated to the Gary Sinise Foundation and Dr. Kenneth Rutherford, Landmine Survivors Network





	

Anna Jenkins sighed as she pulled into the grocery store parking lot. She opened her wallet and read the balance in her checkbook. _This might be the last bag of groceries for a while,_ she thought, sadly.

Today had been the ultimate betrayal. Worst day ever. She never saw it coming. Usually there were danger signals in an office environment; subtle signs that something wasn't right weeks in advance. People avoided you; wouldn't look you in the eye. Requests for supplies or equipment got mysteriously bogged down. Empty boxes started arriving at your cubicle.

This time there were no signs, just an unscheduled freight train at a crossing with no lights. She and a few others were standing on the tracks when it hit.

Sudden, unforeseen layoffs. _Damn company. Ever since they went public it's been going steadily downhill. When it was a privately owned firm we were all like family. Now we're just numbers._

Wheeling her cart, she selected only basic items she knew they couldn't do without and paid the cashier. As she placed the bags in the trunk of her car, she considered her options; pros and cons.

She had a marketable skill - but she'd put in twenty years at that company and she was no spring chicken. She'd have to start at the bottom somewhere else and work her way back up. That meant a lower salary. She'd have to let the home nurse go. Today. How in hell was she going to manage Joe and work too?

Of course, there were programs for disabled veterans but somehow their particular situation had slipped through the cracks. She'd have to put job hunting on hold to research programs and fight the inevitable red tape while taking care of a vent-dependent soldier in a wheelchair. The very last option was sending him to the VA hospital. She knew where he would end up. Soldiers there displayed their grim humor when they called it the 'Produce Section.' Joe didn't belong there. Not among soldiers who had given everything except the spark of life that machines maintained. They were in limbo, half dead and half alive.

Joe was different. His mind was sharp and clear; he had one arm and hand left with which he could control a computer, and even a chance of further improvement with therapy and proper treatment. How could she just stash Joe in that place?

Anne allowed tears to flow on the drive home. She pulled into her driveway, wiped her face and carried the two bags to the front door. No need to worry anybody - yet.

'I'm home, son,' she called.

Jerry, her freckle-faced twelve-year-old, ran to greet her and take the bags. She looked at him sadly; for a split second she saw him as just another problem. For now, the home nurse not only cared for Joe, she saw to Jerry's needs once he got home from school; made sure he had a snack and did his homework. The nurse, Debi Burt, wasn't paid to do this but cheerfully did it anyway - as she had for the past three years. She was a jewel. Now she couldn't pay Debi and with Debi gone, how was she going to handle Jerry? He'd be a latchkey kid, home for several hours before she got there, too old for daycare (which she couldn’t afford anyway), at risk for drugs, street gangs, kidnapping -- she fought panic as her mind spun out of control. Her breath hitched as she tried to stop the flow of more tears.

'What's wrong, Mom?'

Anne shook her head and forced a smile. 'Nothing, darling. I'm just tired. How's Daddy?'

'He's _awesome_. Just wait till you hear!' Jerry ran into the kitchen and hurriedly put the groceries away before going up to his room.

Anne laid her purse and keys on the table in the front hall and wearily entered what was once their living room. Over the years since Joe had returned from Afghanistan and after the hospital released him, the room had been transformed into something better fitted for rest home. Medical equipment, a lift, a special bed, a suction machine and a spare ventilator made it hard to maneuver to the wheelchair. She made her way to it and hugged her husband gently. She was amazed to see his face light up. He buzzed for Debi with his good hand and motioned her over. Anne was taken aback by the grin on Debi's face. She looked quizzically from Joe to Debi and back. Joe painfully typed out a sentence on his computer screen: _Tell her for me, Deb. Tell her what we got in the mail._

'What's he talking about, Deb?'

The nurse dragged up a chair for Anne. 'Better sit down for this one, Honey - I don't need _two_ patients to tend to.' She chuckled. 'Even if I did you could hire me a helper.'

'What are you talking about?! You don't understand, Deb, I - I have to tell you both something. I was laid off today. Do you know what that means?'

Both Deb and Joe kept grinning.

Anne stared at them in consternation. 'Don't you understand what I just said?'

The grins never faded.

'Before you say any more or work yourself into a tizzy, let me read you a special delivery letter we got today,' said Debi.

Joe grinned, clasping his wife's hand as he watched Debi lift a letter from his tray and unfold it. She began reading.

 

_'Joe,_

_Hey, buddy, been thinking of you lately. Had me a good year and wanted the guy who saved my life to have a share in it. I mean, I'll forgive you for dislocating my hip kicking my ass out of the truck just before that IED blew if you'll take what I'm offering. Deal?_

_I'm working with a consulting firm now, no more wetwork, no more dirty money. I guarantee it. This outfit is on the level and like I said, we had a damned good year. First thing I thought of was you and Anne and Jer. If you argue with me over this, I'm just gonna come over there and shove that computer up your ass. I mean, this is way too much shit for me; what in hell else am I gonna do with it? You've known me for a long time; I ain't never gonna settle down, and you got that beautiful wife and a son that's gonna grow up to be everything you and me weren't, man. No need to lose your home or anything. See, I heard what happened to Anne. She may not even have told you yet, but my business partner keeps his eye on the ball and he warned me about that company she works for. It's on a downturn and won't recover. It sucks, man, but don't worry. We set up an account for you at your bank. All the taxes are paid. All you gotta do is draw on it._

_This ain't payback._

_This is thank you, brother._

_Eliot Spencer_

'How did Eliot know that?' asked Anne. I was just told this afternoon!'

'Well, like the letter said, they have their ways, I guess,' said Debi.

Joe nodded. He tugged at the letter in Deb's hands.

'He wants to tell you how much is in the account. Shall I tell her, Joe?'

Joe nodded again, grinning as wide as his scarred face would allow.

'Ok, tell me.' Anne sat back in her chair, expecting something like a five-hundred dollar windfall from their friend. She'd be grateful to Eliot for that much; it was enough to give them a little breathing room. They could eat but she'd still have to let Deb go.

Debi smiled at her friend and employer and read the number at the bottom of the page:

'Five million dollars.'

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

 

'A special delivery letter arrived for you today, sir,' said the secretary as she lay a stack of mail on her boss's desk. 'It's on top. How are you today?'

'Just fine, Janet, can I get a cup of coffee?'

'You bet.'

Dr. Kenneth Rutherford eased himself into his desk chair and set his crutches aside. He picked up the legal envelope and studied it curiously. The return address was only a post office box in Somalia, of all places. _Who could it be from_ , he wondered.

He opened the envelope. Inside was a cashier's check folded into a handwritten letter which read:

_Dr. Kenneth Rutherford_

_Landmine Studies Coordinator_

_Department of Political Science_

_Southwest Missouri State University_

_Dr. Rutherford -_

_Enclosed is a donation for you to use in your work for the Landmine Survivors Network. I've read about the work you do to help landmine survivors help themselves to recover and reclaim their lives after devastating injuries caused by landmines and unexploded ordnance. I know you were one of those victims. Your work is truly humanitarian._

_Feel free to distribute the funds as you see fit, but my own recommendation for a large part of the endowment would be to benefit an orphanage in Somalia. The children there are in dire need of new prosthetics._

There was no signature at the bottom of the page.

Janet soon returned with a cup of hot black coffee in a saucer and set it on the desk. Dr. Rutherford smiled his thanks and opened the folded check.

_'Good God.'_

'Bad news, sir?'

'Not exactly. Read for yourself!'

'S-Sir,' Janet stammered. 'Who would send you _ten million dollars_?!'

'I don't know, but the check's no joke. Get some coffee. We've got a ton of work to do!'

 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

 

Parker, Sophie and Eliot headed down the hall to their new offices at Leverage Headquarters.

'So … what did you do with your score, Parker?' asked Eliot.

'From the first job?'

'Yeah.'

'I put all that money in a Swiss bank account.'

'Millions of dollars and you didn’t buy anything?' Eliot said, incredulously.

'I don’t like stuff, I like _money_ ,' she stated, flatly.

Sophie chimed in. 'I bought a little retirement home, an island …'

'Nice,' said Eliot.

'In Dubai … and Tokyo.'

'What about you?' Parker asked.

The three had reached the door on which a small envelope had been taped to the glass with Sophie’s name written on it. Sophie took the key from the envelope and opened the door.

Before they went in, Eliot replied smugly, 'Yeah … I’m not about to tell two known thieves what I did with a multi-million dollar payout.'

'Don’t you trust us?' asked Sophie, giggling. Parker joined in.

Eliot didn't answer. It wasn't a question of trust, after all.

 

 

The End


End file.
